Honour and the Sword by A. L. Berridge Page B

I really will.’
    ‘Course you will, Sieur,’ said the gamekeeper, blowing his nose in a revolting handkerchief. ‘Course you will. Maybe you’d like a pistol too?’
    We stared. He bent down to yank the empty sack out of Dog’s fangs, and said casually ‘When we were going round the Manor, a few of us just happened to collect up weapons from the dead soldiers. They’re under the dairy floor. Just for when you want them, Sieur, that’s all.’
    André’s hands stilled on the scabbard. ‘You think it’ll come to that?’
    ‘Oh, our army will drive them back, Sieur,’ said M. Gauthier. ‘La Capelle, Le Câtelet, Corbie, we’ll hold them.’
    The boy went on looking at him.
    ‘Ay, Sieur,’ said M. Gauthier. ‘I think in the end it’ll come to that.’
    The boy’s eyes seemed to gleam in the darkness. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Good.’
    I didn’t think it was good at all, I didn’t see a bunch of peasants being able to do much against a whole Spanish army no matter what weapons we gave them, but it didn’t seem worth worrying about just then, we’d got armies out there fighting our battles, they weren’t going to need the help of people like us.
    The idea of it still made all the difference to André. He forgot all about being miserable when M. Gauthier had gone, he spent ages arranging his possessions carefully round his blanket, his books in a neat pile, the tennis ball in a nest to stop it rolling away, his picture propped up so he could see it all the time, and when he’d finished he stood back and nodded in satisfaction, like that was his home.
    Then that evening he got out the foils and said it was time I learned to fence.
    For a second I almost stopped breathing. It was something I’d always wanted to do, ever since I’d started watching him all those years ago, but I knew it was only a stupid dream.
    I said carefully ‘André, I’m a peasant.’
    He studied me with his head on one side, like he was seeing me for the first time. Then he gave a little nod, put down the foils and picked up his cloak instead.
    ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘There’s something we need to do.’
    I was a bit nervous following him, because it wasn’t really dark yet, there might still be soldiers around, but he didn’t head for the Manor, he strode across the paddock towards the Home Farm and led me to the back of the barns where the beehives were. It wasn’t somewhere people liked to hang about in daytime, but it was all quiet now, just a sort of gentle buzzing coming from the skeps like the bees were all snoring peacefully. The boy walked straight past the trestles to the stone wall at the back, bent down and started working away a rock at the bottom, then reached into the hole to drag out a large wooden box. I glimpsed another in the darkness behind.
    I knelt down beside him. ‘What are they?’
    ‘My father hid them here after the last raid.’
    He slid off the lid then peeled away the cloth underneath, and I saw a great heap of jewellery glistening softly in the gloom. When he dug inside there was a tinkling sound like coins as well, and the whole pile moved and slithered under his hands. I remembered people saying Mme de Roland wasn’t actually noble, that her father had been a big financier and was worth millions. I tried to think what the box would be worth, then remembered there were two, and my brain just gave up.
    The boy handed me a ring with a big stone. I’d never seen one close before, but knew it had to be a diamond. When I tilted it to the sunset it broke into thousands of splinters of coloured light, painting little rainbows over the pale stone of the wall. I made to pass it back, but he shook his head.
    ‘It’s for you.’
    I gaped at him. ‘Why?’
    ‘Because you saved my life, I suppose. It’s usual.’
    He was so matter of fact I found myself believing it, but it felt impossible all the same. I said ‘This was your father’s.’
    ‘He never wore it, that’s why it’s in here,’ he